


As days fade (and night grows)

by chaoticdean



Series: Suptober 2020 [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, MCD implied, MCD is Jack, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Suptober 2020 (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean/pseuds/chaoticdean
Summary: Suptober 2020, day 19: pour one out.Castiel wakes up alone and cold, and decides that he’s had enough of Dean shutting him out. They’ve lost Jack, but it doesn’t mean they have to lose themselves too.
Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Suptober 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949341
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	As days fade (and night grows)

Maybe it’s the cool breeze of the room slithering on his bare skin that tears Castiel away from his sleep, the cover loose enough around him so that his back lies exposed to the atmosphere; or maybe it’s the lack of warmth surrounding him, usually brought by Dean’s arms holding him closely against his chest, his scent overwhelming his senses like a blanket of comfort and safety.

He’s grown used to it, falling asleep pressed against Dean’s skin, the covers lifted high around them both, being lulled to sleep by the steady and familiar rhythm of the man he loves breathing quietly in the space between them.

It’s still dark when Castiel finally manages to open his eyes, and Dean is not in bed with him. It’s not like it never happens — it _does_ , has happened _repeatedly_ over the last few months — but this time it looks like Dean hasn’t even been to bed at all. The pillow on his side hasn’t moved, the sheets are still untouched and cold where he would’ve been laying, and the room is silent, empty of Dean’s quiet breathing.

It takes everything in him not to freak out. They’ve been “working their shit out”, as Dean gently phrased, trying to get past their mutual traumas to come together, but the last few days have been rough. Castiel is still trying to get a hold of his newfound humanity, grasping at the straws of what being human means and feels like; Dean is still coming to terms with the consequence of them defeating Chuck, still blaming himself for Cas losing his grace (despite it being the angel’s choice).

They’re both still trying to deal with Jack being gone, and it’s not something you get to go over in a matter of weeks, let alone in their field of expertise. Jack left a hole in both of their soul, where they'd crafted a space for him 3 and a half years ago, and Castiel doesn’t really know how you're supposed to come back from losing your son, doesn’t really know if you _can,_ if they _ever will._

It takes every single drop of strength he still possesses for Cas to finally sit up in bed, to reach out for his phone to check the time — 4:37 am — and to calmly start sorting through his thoughts. He has no missed calls or texts, which means Dean hasn’t gone out and is still in the bunker; Cas went to bed alone, fell asleep to an empty bed, and woke up to the space beside him cold and untouched still, which means Dean is very likely still where he left him 5 hours ago.

Buried in books, with a bottle of whisky within reach, losing his mind over how to get their son back.

Cas sighs loudly, weighing his options; he could try to go back to sleep and let him be, knowing very well that there’s likely not much he can do to ease Dean’s pain. But the mere thought of leaving him alone with his misery one more minute is almost unbearable, so Cas grabs a shirt that’s been thrown on the desk — one of Dean’s, he figures as he puts it on, the faint scent of mint shampoo and motor oil floating around the smooth cotton blend fabric overwhelming his nostrils— and makes his way to the library, squinting his eyes as the low light of the corridor assaults his eyes.

As predicted, Dean hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting in the chair facing the library, his computer opened on his right side a pile of books in front of him. The bottle of whisky stands open on his left, half drank, an empty glass sitting right next to Dean’s hand.

Castiel’s heart sinks at the sight, at the clear line of exhaust on Dean’s face, the tension gathered over his shoulder blades threatening to snap painfully. He’s still wearing his day clothes, an olive henley with a pair of jeans and boots, as if he’s still ready to go on a hunt if a call comes in.

But these calls don't come as much as they used to anymore.

“Dean —“ Cas breathes in the empty space standing between them, unable to move from his spot on the two stairs between the war room and the library.

The hunter turns his head to meet Cas’ eyes, and the pain he reads inside those emerald eyes he loves so much is almost too much for him to take. He briefly wonders if they’ll be able to go through this, or if this will end up ruining them, too.

But the minute Dean greens find Castiel’s blues, the pain seems to lift, only replaced by something else, something untamable and pure. The corner of Dean’s lips lifts up in a weak smile.

“Hey, angel,” Dean says, “what’re you doing up?”

Cas finally moves from his spot, making his way to stand behind Dean, sliding both of his hand over his shoulders and down his chest, burying his head into his dirty blond hair.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he mumbles as Dean reaches for his hands and tangles them together.

“I’m sorry,” Dean answers, bringing on of Castiel’s hand to his lips, dropping a kiss on his knuckles, “I’ve got work to do.”

Cas sighs again, knowing damn well arguing with Dean again over this won’t bring out anything good, “Did you find anything?”

Dean shakes his head, letting go of one of Cas’ hand and raising his face just enough to take a peek at his boyfriend.

“Not yet, but I’ll keep digging.”

“You haven’t moved from this spot since I left,” Cas complains as Dean seemingly goes back to work, letting Cas’ hand go, “you need to get some sleep, honey.”

“I can't do that, I still have so much stuff to go through.”

“Those books will still be there tomorrow —“

“Cas, please…” Dean tries to interrupts, but the once-upon-an-angel keeps going.

“Nothing’s gonna come up or get lost because you go and get 4 _fucking_ hours of sleep, Dean.”

“I can’t, I won’t —“

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake!”

Castiel doesn’t really curse, unless they’re in bed, or unless all the rage he keeps locked down his stomach comes out, and Dean _knows that._ He knows it fuels Cas like fireworks, paired with the pain of his grief. He knows he’s in for a fight, or a meltdown, or both, and his face says it all as he rises to turn and face his boyfriend.

“Babe —“ he starts slowly, like he's weighing his next words carefuly.

“Stop fucking _shutting me out_ , I can’t take it anymore,” Cas says harshly, watching as Dean raises both hands in defense, “this is happening to both of us, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I _know_ that,” Dean complains, coming closer slowly, testing the waters to make sure he’s not gonna get punched by the ex-angel’s fury.

“You know that, but you keep shutting me away, and you keep lying to Sam, and you just… Drink your pain away without _talking_ to me, and I’m _right there_ , and I can’t take this anymore Dean.”

The room falls dead silent as both of them glare at each other, Dean not daring to move under Castiel’s piercing cobalt blue gaze.

“What do you want me to say?” The hunter manages to say, his voice breaking on the last word, “Do you want me to quit? To stop looking?”

“I don't know.”

“Then _what,_ Cas?! Because I’m pretty sure I’m gonna collapse if I stop, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

“Did you look into the mirror today? Because this sure as hell ain’t pretty already,” Cas says, trying to keep his voice down, despite the sudden desire to shake his lover back to his senses, “you’re drinking yourself away, you’re not sleeping and when you do, all you do is scream.”

“What do you want me to do, Cas?”

He sounds so broken up, so in pain that all the rage that had fueled Cas for the past 2 minutes is gone in an instant, leaving him with only the pain and exhaustion. He reaches for Dean then, grabbing him by the waist and burying his head into the pocket of his neck, where it’s warm and familiar and smells like home.

“You know he’s not coming back,” he says quietly, relishing the touch of Dean’s hands between his shoulder blades, pressing them closer together.

“I still have to try,” Dean says, his voice shaky, and Cas doesn’t need to look at him to know he’s about to break down into tears, “I can’t just let him go.”

“I don’t want to either, but Jack is gone, Dean. He’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do, other than trying to get over him together.”

He tears himself away from his spot reluctantly to look at Dean’s face, swiping a thumb at the tear rolling on his cheek and resting his hand against the hunter’s jaw.

“It’s horrible and it’s heart-wrenching, but you have to remember that we’re in this together, and not just the two of us. Sam is grieving too, and he needs us.”

He kisses his temple gently, and the hunter finally let go, dropping his head against Cas’ shoulder as the ex-angel wraps him in a tight hug, letting him sob for several minutes against him while peppering kisses inside his hair.

“I know it’s hard, but we need to remember about the time he was here, about what we shared together; we need to be grateful that it happened instead of concentrating on the loss.”

“That’s easy to say.”

“I know. Believe me. But we have to try, because if we keep going that way,” Cas says as Dean finally tears himself away, meeting his face again, “If we keep going that way, I’m not sure we’re gonna be able to pull it off.”

Dean sniffles, wiping his face with both of his hand before he meets Cas’ eyes again.

“Come to bed, okay?” Cas asks again, softer, keeping Dean’s hand in his, “please. I can’t do this without you.”

“Okay. But there’s something we need to do first.”

He turns away, and Castiel watches him as he proceeds to pour whisky in two glasses before turning back to him, and handing him one of them. Cas just raises an eyebrow at him quizzically.

“What are we doing?”

“We’re pouring one out for our son,” Dean says with a weak smile, intertwining his fingers with Cas’ again, “I just… need to do this before I officially give up.”

So they “pour one out”, as Dean says. They sit together for a long while, trying to recall the happy moments they shared with Jack. Dean cries his way through telling the story of how he got Jack to learn how to drive Baby, and Cas listens while he pets his hair tenderly, his heart breaking at his feet, briefly wondering if they'll ever be able to stitch their broken pieces back together.

They stumble back into bed together around 6, exhausted and a little tipsy in Cas’ case. Dean sinks into sleep with his nose pressed up into Castiel’s neck, his arms locked around his waist, trails of tears marking pathways on his cheek. Cas stares at the ceiling for a long time, listening to the low and familiar breathing of his hunter against him.

There’s a long road ahead of them, a road dotted with obstacles and pain, but it’s a road on which they’re moving forward, together.

**Author's Note:**

> _  
>  **rebloggable on[Tumblr](https://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/post/632446910472519680/as-days-fade-and-night-grows)**   
>  _


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